Brick By Brick
by yodeladyhoo
Summary: She turned his world upside down, collapsed a castle and tore something out of his soul. Now, he's going to return the favor. Rated for language and mild mature content.
1. Prologue: Hello Goodbye

**Title:** Brick By Brick

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** It started with a telephone call

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth x Sarah

**Rating:** M

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. Locations mentioned in this short story are actual locations and means of transportation within New York City, New York. Permission to use these locations, borough names, street addresses, corporations, and restaurant names have not been requested by the author or granted by the State of New York, the City of New York or restaurant owners. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

**Plea for Reason:** Tighten those seat belts, kiddies, 'cause here we go!

* * *

"Hello?"

"Sarah! How wonderful to speak to you and not your machine! I would think that you would be out and about gallivanting!"

Sarah involuntarily put on her wry smile when she heard the contradiction in her stepmother's statement. "No, I'm home. This seems to be the real me and not a machine. What's new, Irene?"

She settled herself on the floor next to the telephone and pulled out a cigarette as her caller started her monologue. "Oh, lots of things; nothing huge, though. I already told you that the Brown's three houses down are expecting their third grandchild." The backhanded laying on of guilt elicited a silent eye roll from the listener. "And Mrs. Leary has a new cat. She says that the two she had needed a third. I just don't understand." Sarah exhaled the cigarette smoke from her nose as not to alert Irene that she was blowing out forcefully. "Oh, do you remember Ms. Hartimer? Our crazy next-door neighbor who is a shrink? I just think that is so hysterical, don't you, Sarah? A shrink who needs a shrink?" The glowing tip of the burning cigarette made large circles in the air as its owner rolled her wrist in an impatient fashion, hoping to move the speaker to get to the point. "Anyway, Mr. Hartimer, her father--I swear, he must be an alcoholic, his skin is so ruddy!--replaced the gas heater in her house and the swearing could be heard all the way around the corner! Oh, are you coming home for the weekend? It's Toby's last weekend home before he ships out."

At this, Sarah sat up. _'Finally!'_ "It's this weekend?"

"Yes, I know! It's here so soon! Oh, wait. Toby wants to talk to you."

Sarah heard the muffled shuffling as the handset was passed from mother to son. As soon as it cleared up, she chirped with a "Hey, squirt!" She could almost see Toby try not to wince with that the memory of how he earned that nickname in the half-second pause before he continued.

_**--**_It was a harried morning as most were when there were four people trying to get out the door on time to their respective schedules. Irene had shouted up to Sarah to make sure that Toby was out of bed before she went to take her shower. With the authority of an older sibling, Sarah opened the door to Toby's room without knocking or warning. She expected him to be sleeping in bed. Toby was still in bed, but he was doing something other than sleeping. She opened the door to hear her brother's gasp of pleasure after his self-induced release. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned heavily against it, closing her eyes and trying to erase the image that was burned into her mind. "Is he up?" Was the question that floated up to her from the kitchen. "Yeah," was her verbal response, _'But probably not anymore!' _was the vicious rejoinder.**_--_**

"Hey, yourself." '_He never could come up with a good comeback.' _"Can you get a couple of square pies from Da 'Vinci's?"

"You want me to schlep all the way to Brooklyn to get pizza to bring it on the MetroNorth?" The indignation was an act and he knew it.

"Yeah."

With a big grin she could not help plastered across her face, she conceded. "Only because you're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

_'Yeah, and you'd better keep your head down in Iraq so I can still have a brother.' _"Put your mom back on, please."

Irene was on the other end. "Yes, dear."

"He wants me to bring over pizza."

"That's fine. Oh, Sarah, could we ask a favor of you?"

_'Here it comes.' _"Sure."

"Your father has an appointment with a new doctor in the City. Could we stay at your apartment overnight?"

Looking at the smoldering cigarette in her hand with guilt, she answered, "Sure. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing serious," which meant it probably was very serious. Sarah had learned over the years that the more off-handed Irene sounded, the more worried she actually was. "Just a specialist about some pain your father has been having in his shoulders."

"Pain?" She stubbed out the cigarette. The acrid curl of its death lingered in her nostrils. "That's something new. How long has that been going on for?"

"Oh, for about ten days now," again, the forced nonchalance. "It wasn't so much in the beginning, but it was sharp enough to see Dr. Haber about. It's been more frequent lately."

Concern seeped into Sarah's voice, "When is the appointment?"

"It's next Thursday, a week from today. I thought we could come in on Wednesday and take you out for dinner."

"Don't be silly. I'll pay."

"We'll argue over it then. Ta-ta!"

_'Same old Irene'_, Sarah thought as she replaced the handset to its base. She lifted the soiled ashtray as she rose from her seat on the floor, carried it into the microscopic kitchen to dispose of its contents, and placed it into sink to wash. After doing so, she went and opened the windows to the brisk, mid-October air that filled the thinning Manhattan streets this Thursday night. She had an apartment to clean and try to make it appear that a smoker did not live there.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, boy and girls, you read correctly—Irene is the stepmother. Whether or not you like the manga, it is sanctioned by The Jim Henson Company. For that reason, I believe it needs to be handled like canon. Now, (you say) if you're treating the manga like canon, what about Toby? Since the manga isn't finished (it's supposed to be complete in Fall of 2009!), We don't know what happens to Toby right now. For argument's sake, I will treat the story of the manga as something he might remember, but maybe only as a dream.

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


	2. Chapter One: There's no place like home

**Title:** Brick By Brick

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** Confrontation

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth & Sarah

**Rating:** M

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. Locations mentioned in this short story are actual locations and means of transportation within New York City, New York. Permission to use these locations, borough names, street addresses, corporations, and restaurant names have not been requested by the author or granted by the State of New York, the City of New York or business owners. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

**Plea for Reason:** Yes, I know, it's been a while. In my defense, I plead equipment failure; my laptop died. It just up and…kaput. No warning, no dreaded blue screen of doom, just didn't charge up once I plugged it in or turn on. Thank goodness I was able to retrieve the files after the fact. So now, I'm back to the old fashion way of pen and paper. At least it's a ball point pen and not a quill!

* * *

Her day started early, but not so early that she was up before she knew what the weather would be. As she poked her head out of her fourth floor window, the sun threatened to burn off the brisk, autumn breeze that invigorated the metropolitan air. Sarah was used to this routine, infrequent as it was: get a bag ready and get herself out the door; then a forty-five minute subway ride out to Bensonhurst to pick up the coveted pies. Nino was used to the occasional call on a Friday night for two, half-baked sicilians to be picked up the following morning. After a short chat over an espresso and biscotti, she was back onto the train, heading back in the direction in which she came. A quick dash around Grand Central Station was followed by a heavy sigh in her seat; with just under two minutes before departure, she could just start to relax.

Sarah had just exited the 11:45 train to Poughkeepsie at her stop, balancing two pizza boxes across her arms and an oversized overnight bag over her shoulder when she heard a familiar, deep tenor shout out a "Hey, pizza kid!" A quick glance over her shoulder was rewarded with the sight of a young man, barely out of college and still wearing his alma mater jersey with honey brown hair buzzed down to almost a peach fuzz and a solemn grin. Sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun and his sister from his sparkling blue eyes. He was strolling over to her on silent sandals when she asked him, "Are you the one who ordered two squares with pepperoni and extra cheese?"

A frown glanced across Toby's face as he drew closer to relieve her of some of her burden. "No. I ordered a pie with mushrooms, onions, and anchovies, and a broccoli and meatball calzone."

"Ah, shit," Sarah said, playing along with their usual charade as she let her arms drop and she fell into step with her brother. "Now I'm going to have to bring those all the way back to Brooklyn to get you your order."

The grin returned to her brother's face, except this time the corners of his mouth were lost underneath his sunglasses. "Don't bother; I'll deal, but don't think you're getting a tip for this!"

They walked back to the family sedan. Sarah opened the door and flipped down the passenger side seat so that Toby could place his cargo on the floor reverently. She expected the seat to be pulled all the way forward and did not bother to give her brother a glare because her legs were cramped. However, the sun had baked the air within the vehicle to a nearly uncomfortable temperature, for which she turned on the car's air conditioner for relief. The ride home was fairly quiet, except for the light banter about each other's lives.

"How's work?"

"Working. I'm proofing a young adult book this week. Nothing that you would be interested in."

Toby smirked. "How's Marc?"

"He's fine--we're fine. He had rotations this morning and won't get out until 4:30. So, we are free of him for this weekend." Sarah hesitated here. "He wanted me to tell you that he's proud of you and that you should cover your ass while you're overseas." Sarah held her breath as she stole a look out of the corner of her eye to see her brother's reaction. Apart from the look of concentration for driving on the bright, Saturday afternoon lazy streets, there was little indication that he was nervous about his assignment. "Toby?"

"Yeah?" The strain was thinly concealed in his voice. Toby kept his eyes on the empty road in the quiet neighborhood.

"I'm worried, too. Don't cover your ass in Iraq, okay? Cover your head."

Now Toby afforded her a glance with a forced smile. "I don't understand what you guys are so worried about. It's not like there is an active war going on anymore."

"Then why are they still sending troops over there?"

The question went unanswered as Toby turned into the familiar driveway to the large Victorian with the wraparound patio. Sarah could see that the neighbor was busy in her front garden, her straw hat covered head bent diligently over some fresh diggings. The sound of the car turning into the shared driveway elicited a wave from a soiled dusted hand as she got up to greet her neighbors.

"Hi there," the slightly older than middle-aged woman called out. She walked over to the car in a casual fashion. "How're you doing?"

"We're doing fine, Mrs. Hartimer." Toby answered for the both of them as he took Sarah's bag out from the trunk. Sarah silently removed the boxes from the back of the car.

"Gina, please," was accompanied with an easy smile, showing off the laugh-lines across her face. She indicated towards her horticulture work, "I found some lovely lily-of-the-valley growing down by the stream and I thought they would be great in my border come spring. I'll be happy to split them and give your mom some."

Sarah's brow furrowed, _down by the stream... _"Isn't that considered town public property?"

"Is it?" Gina had started to walk back to retrieve the proffered bulbs. "I don't know. They were growing wild. It's not like it's stolen property!" The older woman joked.

"No thanks, Mrs. Hartimer," Toby quickly interjected. "Mom has her hands full these days. I don't think she'll be putting in any plantings right now."

The neighbor stopped to assimilate this information. "Oh. Okay, then. Say 'hi' to Irene and Bob from me."

The siblings smiled and assured the woman that they would do that as they climbed the steps to the front door.

* * *

Sunday morning started quietly. Toby had left early for his run and the head of the household was still asleep when Sarah descended the split-level staircase. By habit, she let herself swing around the newel as she reached the bottom and headed towards the kitchen.

Not much had changed in the house since she moved out. The entire house was still papered with the repeating chrysanthemum pattern. They had not even rearranged the furniture, let alone replace it. Her father would argue that most of the pieces were heirlooms from his grandmother. The ornate grandfather clock still stood in the corner of the entry foyer on the way to kitchen and the understated portraits were still on the walls.

There were additions to the family photographs that lined the short corridor. Both of their graduations from high school and college, respectively. Vacations, starting with the family trip to the Outer Banks when her brother was seven. All these she passed by without a glance as she followed the enticing aroma of fresh brewed coffee.

"Morning, Irene."

Her nearly senior citizen stepmother looked over her shoulder to flash Sarah a smile. It was her picture smile; the one that did not allow her teeth to show least she would have made the fashion mistake of wearing a white shirt. Her pale blonde hair that became lighter every so often was coiffed high, giving away her secret of her weekly salon appointments. "Good morning, dear. Sleep well?"

"Well enough. Oh, I thought it was earlier than that." Sarah noted the time on the wall clock with mild interest. "I usually don't wake up on my own before Dad."

"We're all getting older, dear. I think your father has discovered the pleasures of sleeping in."

"Irene," Sarah hesitated to bring this up so early in the morning. She poured herself a mug of coffee to fortify herself. "Dad's not looking too good. What's going on?"

The older woman puttered around the kitchen under the pretense of preparing breakfast. "He's not been sleeping well for the last little while now. He wouldn't tell me about it, but I'm such a light sleeper myself. Nor has his appetite been what it used to be, but he did finish off two slices of pizza last night," she paused here to smile at the memory. "But, all these things happen to older folks. There was no talking to him to go see Dr. Haber, but when the pain started and the aspirin and the Advil together wouldn't work," her voice trailed off, concern etched across her face and darkened her eyes. "Oh, here comes Toby. Have a good run, dear?"

Sarah remained leaning against the counter sipping coffee as the young man entered the kitchen from the mudroom door. He passed by her on his way to the refrigerator to pour a glass of orange juice. Still breathing heavy from his workout, he answered his mother wordlessly, not being able to catch his breath long enough to give a verbal response before throwing himself into a chair by the informal country kitchen table. "I swear you're going to break one of them, one of these days!" Irene complained.

"It's just that he looks a bit thin." Was Sarah's measured response.

"Who?"

"Your father, dear. Speaking of, once he's awake, I want the two of you to go into the attic and pull out the Halloween decorations." Toby got up in preparation to leave the room. His mother called after him, "I want you to have the memory of decorating the house before you leave." Turning to the other woman, Irene reminisced, "He always loved decorating the house for Halloween." As if her stepdaughter did not already know.

"He's twenty-one, Irene."

"I'm twenty-one, Mom!"

* * *

"Dear Lord! What doesn't that woman save!"

Ducking beneath the eaves, Toby did not answer his sister as he weaved around the haphazardly placed boxes. For although it was his highly organized mother who packed and labeled the boxes, it was their lackadaisical father who placed them in the attic. The hunt continued in silence, each shifting crates to examine the markings identifying the contents.

"Oh, geez…"

"What?" Toby looked over his shoulder to where Sarah crouched. "A mouse?"

He was rewarded with the sight of Sarah digging into a box, her faded denim-clad rump high in the air, nearly touching the roof. She did not respond, apart from a few grunts punctuated with a triumphant crow. Her prize fluttered ivory as she spun around to show him the fruits of her endeavors.

"No," she said through her grin. "I found the box of my old costumes!"

"You? White?"

"Oh, shut up, you!" Was the annoyed retort as she held the dress at arms length. Her voice took on a whimsical tone as she continued, "This was my 'I'm-off-to-slay-the-dragon' costume."

"I thought it was your 'off-to-battle-the-goblins' dress."

"You remember that story?"

"Sure," Toby continued as he approached her. "It was full of wicked kings and valiant knights and beautiful damsels not always in distress."

"The Labyrinth," Sarah murmured as her brother took the dress and looked it over appraisingly.

With a critical eye on the dress, he continued, "The stuff that little boys' dreams are made of, if they're not into construction vehicles. You know, I do believe this would still fit you."

The statement broke Sarah out from her revelry. "Oh, please! I've grown much bigger since those days!"

"But in all the right places."

"TOBY!"

"You know," he continued to tease his sister mercilessly, goading her into shouting. "You're only my half-sister."

"You pervert!"

"Would you two pipe down up there?" A woman's voice shouted at them from beneath their feet. "What will the neighbors think?"

* * *

How you perceive the passage of time is relative to the relationship you have with your relations. It has the ability to pass too slowly when in the company of those you only tolerate, and proceed too quickly when with those you love. The hours spent with Toby went by too quickly, with her father normally, and with her stepmother slowly. Sarah justified the lack of time with her parents with the thought that they were to spend the night with her in just three days, and that her father was exhausted before seven. She let out a heavy sigh as her key allowed the final tumbler to slip into its slot in the lock, giving her access into her apartment. It was late Sunday night, and she did not feel like house cleaning.

The reinforced door closed heavily behind her. She winced when the neighbor to the right banged on the wall, a postscript reminder about not letting the front door to slam shut. _Ah, yes, _she thought to herself, _city living._

Sarah unburdened her shoulder of her bag just inside of the entry hallway and slipped off her sneakers. Light from the street lamps illuminated her small, 500 square foot apartment through the triple panel window. It was not much, but it was all that she could afford back in college. Back then, the two-roomer seemed luxurious compared to NYU's dormitory halls. Her only possessions at the time consisted of a twin bed, an armoire, a mismatched desk set, and her old vanity mirror from home that she refused to part with. Over time, and the influx of prosperity from her internship, she was able to trade up her bed to a queen-sized custom loft and purchased a small sofa and a pair of comfortable chairs. Even then, her decor was thrift shop chic; the maroon club chairs matched but they barely coordinated with the Santa Fe motif on the chesterfield. One end table, with a lamp adorned with a burgundy paper shade situated on top, a not much larger coffee table, and an abstract painting given to her by her last roommate at university as a house-warming gift rounded out her 'parlor' that was situated beneath her bed. The kitchen would have worked better as a closet. It was listed as a galley kitchen, but Sarah had to step out of the kitchen in order to open the oven door.

The lack of a workable kitchen did not bother her, as she usually worked late, necessitating her knowledge of the neighborhood take-out restaurants. Marc was also good for a late night dinner out, as his schedule permitted. She did not get to see her boyfriend all that often; being a third year medical student who was approximately fifteen years older than the rest of the class did have its drawbacks but she was not a demanding girlfriend. Someone on her arm twice a year at the office party and the publishing awards dinner who knew how to wear a suit and not complain was all that she really asked for. Not that life with Marc had not crossed her mind. Marc was financially comfortable enough from earlier successes in his career as a day trader on Wall Street, but he was now very distracted by his medical studies. Sarah had hoped for someone who would be more attentive to her, but for now, Marc was convenient. It was not as if she had to attend dinner parties for work on a regular basis. Her position at Crown and Bridge Publishing was not a very important one. She was one of the on-staff proofreaders who had to cover the scope of work that passed through the small mom-and-pop run publishing house. It paid the bills adequately and the work was not too taxing.

She flopped onto one of the lounge chairs in the dimness and sunk in, her fingers itching to light a cigarette. Reasoning held her urge considering that she had spent five hours on Friday night cleaning and washing slipcovers and bedspreads in an effort to rid the apartment of the smoky after-effect. Sarah contemplated what was left to do as her eyes lazily scanned the dark room. A glint of light from her desk caught her eye. She almost dismissed it as a reflection from the mirror that was propped against the wall, if it were not for the fact that the spot where the glint originated from was in front of the mirror. She leaned forward to have a closer look.

_Was Marc here? _Her breath caught in her throat, as she stood up to advance towards the desk and remembered that Marc did not have a key to her apartment. Even with slow steps, she crossed the distance quickly.

She stopped behind the chair. It was turned invitingly towards her, as if beckoning her to sit down and decipher the mystery that lay in front of her. Sarah's eyes were not drawn to the photo of her and Toby from when he was seven, nor was she distracted by the newspaper clipping of a comic strip. She did not instinctually reach out to replace the mechanical pencils that she had absent-mindedly left strewn on top. She did not even see her own reflection. A breath was trapped somewhere her lungs and her lips as her gaze was fixated by the self-illuminated crystal sphere.

A cold numbness overwhelmed her, as she remained mesmerized by the otherworldly objects. She could almost feel the blood drain from her face, if she were to have the faculties to notice. A crystal ball. A white feather. All of her attention was drawn to those two objects. At that moment in time, nothing else existed except that. Nothing else--not the wail of an ambulance, nor the classical music floating up through the floorboards from the apartment below where that neighbor refused to believe that she was deaf--could pierce the concentration that those items commanded.

She refused to own any crystal; had an outright aversion to that form of art. Set with exorbitant price tags, it was an item that she simply did not miss. So, where did this piece come from? _What the Hell..._

"Hello, Sarah."

The masculine voice pierced through her trance as if she were waiting to hear it. There was one time, one particular night, when she had heard that voice before. After that one time, she had not heard another like it—ever. There was no other who could pronounce her name is such a fashion, placing equal emphasis on both syllables of her name without rolling the central consonant. Her eyes shifted ever so slightly to behold the image reflected in the mirror.

"You!"

It was as if she had been transported back twenty years to her parent's darkened bedroom and not in her Manhattan apartment. Sarah whirled around to face the intruder in her life and her home. He appeared to be just the same as when she first confronted him. His hair and clothes were windblown, except there was no storm this night. His cloak and armor made him appear almost larger than life, much like an animal that spreads itself wide to intimidate its prey. Everything about his person was poised in such a way to accentuate his inhumanity. The stiff, black leather collar of his cloak framed his wispy, feather soft hair, the armor that mimicked an exoskeleton with a raised sternum, the luminescence that seemed to emanate from him, illuminating his features in the lightless space. Jareth tilted his head in a quizzical fashion and asked, "Is that any way to treat an old acquaintance?"

Sarah almost spluttered in her terror. Old acquaintance? She could barely utter "I won!" before losing her breath again.

With a calm that spoke of comfort within his surroundings, Jareth closed the short distance between them as he passed her on his way to the desk. Picking up his property, he gazed into it with a wry quirk of his lips, "So you did." With a deft manipulation, he set the orb in motion, juggling the crystal until there were now two within his hands. Smoothly, he transferred both into one hand where he proceeded to rotate them within his palm. "But, that was the past and there is the little issue of the clean up expenses. What do you say to that?"

Jareth stood there, leaning against her desk, waiting for her answer. Sarah was nearly paralyzed with shock that her old adversary had invaded her space. _How dare he! _"You have no power over me!"

The smooth sound of the rotating crystals stopped. Had she been looking at his hand, Sarah would not have believed that the very solid orbs simply folded underneath his collapsing fingers. As it was, her eyes were in a death grip with his as he tutted. "Truer words have yet to be spoken, precious. I may have no power over you, but there are many that I do have power over, even if it is indirectly—and you are no island."

Jareth lifted himself away from the desk. With all of his attention focused on Sarah, she could not tear herself away from his eyes. They were the reflection of the soul of a predator, the sight of its next victim within range. He circled her as a raptor would when it is about to dive in for the kill. That voice, that silken tenor almost mocking the malice laced words. "Once again, I can be generous, but to a point. Even my generosity can only stretch so far. Now I will exact my retribution. You see, I've had to rebuild my world, brick by brick, because of the havoc you had wrought so long ago. Now, you shall pay for that expenditure as I exact my payment from your world. As my world came down, so shall yours."

Sarah was facing him now, her back to the mirror. She could not recall turning around, all that she could remember is that she dared not to let him out of her sight. Jareth had his back to her, the tendrils of his cape floating on the air as he walked away, bringing their audience together to a conclusion.

"Oh, and Sarah, I promise, I'll be there – for you."

His deep chuckle was the last thing she heard long after his back melted into the darkness of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I must give credit (gladly) where credit is due. The image of Sarah standing in front of her mirror, transfixed by the 'gifts' that Jareth left her is completely inspired by Pica-la-cynique's pencil rendition entitled Here's the Day... A link to the art is provided on my profile page, under the Current Works in Progress banner, subbed down to Brick by Brick.

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


	3. Chapter Two:Old Acquaintances, New Fears

**Title:** Brick By Brick

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** Novemvber, 2005. Realizations and Revelations

**Genre:** Fantasy

** Pairings:** Jareth & Sarah

** Rating:** M

**disclaimer** (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

syn: disavowal

©1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters ©1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. Locations mentioned in this short story are actual locations and means of transportation within New York City, New York. Permission to use these locations, borough names, street addresses, corporations, and restaurant names have not been requested by the author or granted by the State of New York, the City of New York or business owners. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

**Plea for Reason:** Yes, I know. At least now I have a means to write portably, although it really isn't up and running yet. Thank you all for following along with this tale, especially Mashdana who wrote me a lovely note and I did write back, but somehow FanFiction wiped it out before I sent it and I thought you would much rather I work on this chapter than to rewrite it all down.

It's not plagiarism if I give credit. Passages that are italicized and bolded are lifted directly from Labyrinth--A Novel based on The Jim Henson film, written by A.C.H. Smith and published by Henry Hold & Company, New York.

Now, without any more interruptions from me…

* * *

Sarah sat down heavily into the waiting chair, her nicotine addiction kicking into overdrive with the increase in adrenaline levels. Rummaging absent-mindedly on their own accord, her hands and fingers searched blindly in the desk drawer for the pack the craving demanded. They ceased their mission and fell to her side--slack--as she remembered that she had thrown away any cigarettes she had left during her big clean on Friday night. The demon monkey that was trapped in her head screamed its frustration but Sarah could not hear it over the din her mind was creating in its confusion.

_Jareth._

_The Goblin King._

_Is real._

_Oh, shit._

Swiveling the chair so that she could stare directly at the spot her caller had left by, Sarah was still dumbstruck. In the darkness, her mind played games with her eyes, making her believe she could still see the tendrils of his outline curling out from the abyss of the corner. Black in black burned into her retinas and she started to think that Jareth did not leave but was merely waiting in the shadows that he called sanctuary within her home. Her ego was trying desperately to fight the panic her id was generating.

Over the course of twenty years, Sarah tried to convince herself that it was not real; that the mostly harrowing experience of the Labyrinth was nothing more than a story she told her brother. That her adventures were merely the product of a pubescent girl with a vivid imagination that she fed with an obsessed-over story and fueled by self-indulgent emotions. She validated all of the events and characters she encountered during that night to objects and images tucked away in her crowded room. She learned that night that it was time to put away the things of her childhood. Time to put things into perspective. Time to realize that she was not the center of her world.

That storm witnessed the transformation of Sarah Williams from a girl to a young lady. She packed away her books and toys and costumes. She placed her past firmly behind her as she carefully removed old photographs from her room and looked to the future. No longer did she blame the baby for her situation. It was not his fault that his parents went out. It was not his fault that she was saddled with watching him. No, things were the way they were and that is the way it is. She could not change everything to suit her sense of justice. Sometimes, you have to go with the flow and follow the direction that you are heading. Since her life was in the real world, she had to follow the directions of the real world and her fairy tale stories had no place here.

Sarah tried to convince herself, but it did not work. To this day, twenty years later, she still remembered where she left her little birthstone ring that her mother gave to her on the day she was born. That was a cherished memory; the day Linda Williams recounted how she slipped the then too big ring onto her newborn daughter's thumb. Since that night, the night that Sarah Williams changed for the world, she has not seen that memory again. It was left behind as a payment for the passage into adulthood.

_**Quite often, young lady, it seems we're not getting anywhere, when in fact we are.**_

To this day, that bit of sage advice helped her to remember that the events of that night did occur.

Sarah tried to convince herself, but she failed at doing so, just as she had failed to convince her parents that there was no crazed party in her room that night while they were out. She could still recall her indignation over the three-week grounding and the lectures about having friends over without adult supervision.

Socked feet muffled her footfalls as she made her way to the still-locked window. The ambient light from the overhead street lamp cast a blue-grey pallor across her face, causing harsh bars of shadow to segment her worried eyes from the rest. _How did he get in here? _Her forehead touched the cool glass as she leaned on the smooth pane. The wind was picking up, causing the trees to shiver with their browning leaves still firmly attached. Hugging herself in a futile effort to suppress the action, Sarah joined them in their involuntary motion. There were no wishes made, at least none by her, nor did he say that anyone was wished away. He also did not demand that she run his little rat maze again. _Okay, not so little. More like huge. _

Her tired form made its way back to the couch, the _slop-slop_ of the heels of her loose fitting socks slowing down ever so slightly. She finally pulled them off completely once she sat down on the dated chesterfield. _What did he say again? _Sarah picked her brains, head cradled in her hands, as she tried to recall her uninvited visitor's words. Words, especially those that were spoken by someone who lived by them, had power. Someone like him would not throw words around carelessly in idle threats. Slowly, a voice replayed in a corner of her mind.

_I am no island and that he has power, if not over me directly, then indirectly._ _Okay, he can't touch me, but he can affect people I know._

_Toby!_

Panic once more raced through her veins, flooding her body with adrenaline. Her head jerked up out of hands to stare at the mirror from across the room. Searching within the image of the darkened room, her eyes scoured the reflection of shadows that flanked the couch--not sure of what she was looking for--hoping for some indication that the menace was for her and not for her brother. Terror etched its way across her forehead, her heart pounding against her ribs in response. _He couldn't, could he?_

_No, he can't_, she thought almost ruefully. _No one can kidnap a soldier from the United States Army right from under their noses. _

Her eyes closed mostly on their own as her fingers massaged her temples. A wicked migraine caused by an over stimulation of emotions and a lack of nicotine was forming. If she did not calm herself down, she would not be able to sleep tonight. A siren wailed from the street, slowly rising in crescendo as it drew closer to her block as it raced down the nearly empty avenue. Quickly, it faded as it passed and moved further uptown. Still, she needed to work out the threat that Jareth implied. _What else?_

"**Once again, I can be generous, but to a point. Even my generosity can only stretch so far. Now I will exact my retribution. You see, I've had to rebuild my world, brick by brick, because of the havoc you had wrought so long ago. Now, you shall pay for that expenditure as I exact my payment from your world. As my world came down, so shall yours."**

His world came down, and now so will mine.

With a sigh, Sarah stood up and shimmied out of her jeans. It was late and she had to go to work tomorrow. One last thought flitted through her mind as she looked through the slats of the blinds before she shut out the City for the night.

_I don't think he will create World War III just to get back at me. _

* * *

"The neighbor has let her dog loose in her backyard again." Irene strained her neck to see out the kitchen window. The late autumn day was crisp and still as the dog romped through the leaves on their property, stopping occasionally to root up a small pile with his nose before snapping at any fluttering strays. The contours of the gentle hill that joined their property to the one behind them were accented by the orange, ruby, and tan of the scattered leaves.

Sarah did not bother to look up from her chore of washing the salad greens for the luncheon. She was used to the fact that her stepmother would just talk; an outlet for the nervous energy that her worrying would give her. Senseless chatter to fill the space with sound so that issues that are more important would not find the space to be discussed.

Irene went back to setting the lid on the soup pot, "Damned dog always crawls under the fence. Didn't I just put the ladle here?"

_If she wants to talk about the dog…_ "Merlin used to do the same thing." The older woman muttered something about the learning capabilities of old dogs as she hunted for the missing utensil, to which Sarah responded, "Funny, but you say the same thing about Daddy."

"At least your father is toilet trained," Irene shot back.

The two women stared at each other a moment before the chortling started. "How did it go on Thursday?" Sarah asked before the humor dissipated.

"I'm so glad that you agreed to come over this weekend and help take down the Halloween decorations," countered her stepmother as she took out the bowls and plates for lunch. Anxiety propelled her to the table where crockery clattered noisily followed by the rattle of silverware. "There's just so much to do all the time and not having Toby around makes it more than I realized."

"Irene…"

"The house seems so big and empty without the children here," she continued in a wistful tone.

"Now, wait a minute," Sarah said, momentarily distracted from her original train of thought. "I've been out of the house now for what? Fifteen years? Toby's been in college for four and then he went into basic training," she placed the bowl of lettuce in the center of the wooden table. "We haven't been 'children' for a very long time and you guys have had the house to yourself for the past five years."

Irene kept her eyes on her hands as they folded the napkins that were to be placed next to each plate setting. "Oh, that was different. Toby would always come home to do his laundry." She corrected herself when Sarah failed to restrain a sudden outburst of laughter, "Okay, he would drop his laundry off to be done. At least he came home at least one day a week! It wasn't like he moved 40 miles away, you know."

Sarah quickly recovered from her snickering and covered Irene's hands. Anything to get the older woman to focus on the question and not lose herself in mindless activity, "Irene, how's Dad?"

Apprehensive pale blue eyes met concerned dark hazel ones. "Well, we brought along the results that Dr. Haber ordered blood-work for. Oh, Sarah!" her voice cracked with emotion. "I don't know what to say! Dear, your father has cancer…"

A flaming lump formed at the base of Sarah's throat. It burned its way down past her heart, forcing it to become a dead weight in her chest as it continued down into her abdomen. The sheer solidity of that sensation forced Sarah to sink into a chair. She did not register anything more that her stepmother was saying as the shock of the news settled in.

The bowl of lettuce leaves crossed her vision. How many times did she have salad for dinner after her mother left them simply because Daddy did not know how to cook? How many times with canned salmon? With tuna? Memories of dinners past flew through her mind, stimulated by a simple dish of greens. Her lungs were feeling sluggish, her breathing slowing down as if that burning mass that dropped through her was not on fire but was so frigid that it left a path of frostbite in its wake.

What she would not do for a cigarette right now to jumpstart her numbed mind. To busy her fingers with bringing it up to her lips, lighting it, and just holding it as she watched the paper embers flit away after she took that first pull. To feel the drugged-laced smoke warm her throat on its way to her frozen lungs where it would then spread to melt away the permafrost that they had become. To have the security knowing that the stimulant would enter her bloodstream and course to her brain. She longed to feel the anticipated calming effects on her nerves and awaken the rational Sarah, the Can-Do Sarah, who would know how to handle this crisis.

_Why? Why him? How? How could this have happened to him? Could?_

"Could I stay with you a few days a month?"

Sarah looked up at a teary-eyed Irene. She was looking at Sarah expectantly.

"I wouldn't want to put you out. If it would be too difficult…"

"Huh?"

A sympathetic smile fluttered across the older woman's lips. "Your father and I have discussed it and he has decided that he wants to fight this. He's going to start chemotherapy in two weeks."

"That's right before Thanksgiving." Thanksgiving. Always eaten out because Daddy could not cook and Nana lived too far away for her to travel and spend the holiday with them and cook at their house. The barrage of memories was becoming overwhelming. The burning sensation that took up residence in the bowels of her belly magically moved up to the corners of her eyes and seared them to tears.

"Yes, dear, I know. The doctor believes it to be best to start early and that is the first opening that they have." Irene sat down next Sarah, "Each treatment will last about three days. I was hoping that I could stay with you while your father is in the hospital, so I could be with him during the days when he is receiving treatment."

_Daddy. Hospital._ "Of course. You don't even need to ask."

Irene leaned over to hug her stepdaughter. Seasoned fingers moved towards Sarah's face. Too stunned to react, Sarah let her stepmother dry her cheeks of the tears that she was unaware were there. A feminine touch. There were so few times that a woman touched her in a comforting fashion. Her father was always her rock, her comfort. Now she would need to be strong for him, and for him, she would need to be a comfort to Irene.

"Thank you," she whispered to Sarah. "I knew we could count on you. Now, brave face. We can't let your father know that we've been getting all mushy in here, can we?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


	4. Chapter Three: I'll Be Watching You

**Title:** Brick By Brick

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Beta:** Anij

**Summary:** Just when you thought it was safe...

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth & Sarah

**Rating:** M

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər): noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of syn: disavowal

©1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters ©1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. Locations mentioned in this short story are actual locations and means of transportation within New York City, New York. Permission to use these locations, borough names, street addresses, corporations, and restaurant names have not been requested by the author or granted by the State of New York, the City of New York or business owners. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

**Plea for Reason:** _**slinks in quietly and drops off this chapter. Slinks out, hopefully unnoticed.**_

It isn't plagiarism if I give credit. The areas in bold are lifted from Wikipedia, taken out of context and edited for grammatical correctness.

* * *

Sarah took the early train to the City that Sunday. It was just too painful to try to stem the flood of tears that threatened to breech the dam of her will power every time her father spoke. She was barely home thirty minutes before her telephone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sarah!" an upbeat, if not mildly surprised, male voice responded.

"Oh, Marc!" she acknowledged with relief she did not realize that she needed. If ever she needed a shoulder to lean on, her boyfriend would be the one to turn to. "Are you busy? Can you come over?"

The slight hesitation went unnoticed by Sarah. "Uh, sure. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Thanks, honey. I really need to talk to someone right about now," she confided before she hung up the telephone.

It never occurred to her that it was a very rare occasion that Marc could come over on less than 24 hours notice.

True to his word, not a half hour later, Sarah's door buzzer went off. She barely let the dark haired man into her apartment before she threw herself at him. Marc had no choice but to hold her within his arms and he shushed away her fears.

Surrounded by his masculine, wiry arms, her face buried in his nappy, worsted wool sweater, Sarah still could not allow the tears that she had denied herself all weekend. It was as if the act of self-control took away her ability to free herself when she had the opportunity to release them. Still, she relished the sensation of being protected, ensconced in strong arms that could protect her from all the evils of the world as if she were still a little girl and she could hide in the comfort of her father's arms. Nuzzling her nose deeper into the pile, she ignored the roughness against her skin as she was lulled into security by the tangy kaleidoscope that filled her—the acrid, smoky odor of Marc's cigarettes, the scintillating scent of his masculinity, and the hidden hints of fabric softener that was used the last time the sweater was washed. If it were another time, the essences combined would start things stirring in her that would lead them to her loft bed, Marc nipping at her ankles as she teased him in her climb up the ladder. Right now, they served as her anchor, the bastion that there was someone there for her when she was at her weakest.

She moved her face so that the coarseness of the wool was against her cheek. Not the most pleasant of feelings, but it brought back memories of Sunday mornings before Irene entered her life. A younger, care-fee time when a small girl would jump into her father's bed in order to wake him up and pester him for a pancake breakfast. An earlier time when a late night, unshaven cheek would be pressed to hers for a belated good-night kiss while she slept. Without realizing the reason, Sarah's cheeks began to burn, as if salt were being spread across her wool-scraped face. "Marc," she started, "My father…my father was just diagnosed with cancer."

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah, I know," was all that she could muster out for a response.

Marc disentangled himself from her, leaving her standing in the middle of her apartment. Stranded, she watched him walk to the window and hesitate with removing a cigarette from its box. He looked out the window, seemingly out into the city skyline, and thought better than to take the cigarette out.

"Marc…"

"Sarah," he began, turning towards her, his hands on the window sill behind him. She always thought that when he stood that way, he would make a fine trapeze artist, perched on the swing, ready to flip up-side down to catch her and her world. "This isn't fair to you."

A small smile graced her lips. "Life isn't fair, honey. I know that. It is the way it is."

"No, Sarah, that isn't what I mean." Nervously he ran his fingers through his jet-black tangle of hair. "Our relationship isn't fair to you. We barely get to see one another on the weekends and it's just impossible during the week--"

"Marc, right now I just need someone to be there for me, someone I can turn to. I know you coming over on such short notice isn't usual, and that's okay, honey. As long as I know that if I need you, I can call," she pleaded, her arms expanding in space to encompass him--to hold him to her in her time of need.

She walked over to him. The mid-afternoon sun was weak on the grey November day, barely giving enough light through the cloud cover to call it afternoon in the room. She tried to wrap her arms around his waist, but Marc just moved around her towards the door.

"But that's part of the problem. I'm never there when you call. Hell, I was shocked not to get your answering machine today! I'm just not there for you, Sarah." He hesitated before the next barrage of words came out softly, as if the timbre of his voice could lessen the blow of the message. "You deserve someone to watch over you, to treat you like the princess you are…"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Not believing that she was in the middle of this conversation, she ran the heel of her palm across her cheekbone to wipe away the tears that had started. "Please, Marc, don't do this now. I ask for so little—"

By this point, Marc could not look in her direction; he just kept his gaze averted onto the floor. "You deserve so much more that what I can offer you."

"Hey," quiet socked feet walked over to where he stood. Toe to toe now. Without touching him, Sarah forced herself into his line of sight, first with her foot, then with her eyes. "It's okay, honey. I'm not asking for anything more. I'm happy where we are now."

Pain filled his voice, "I don't want to make this any harder than it is, Sarah. You need support and I can't be that for you. I'm sorry, it's over." With that, he reached for the doorknob and slipped out of her life.

Sarah stared at the door--first at the entire structure, then at the doorknob. Finally, her eyes came to a rest at about eye level where she would expect Marc's face to be when he would walk into the apartment. _Except, he's not walking back in. _Frustration, combined with grief and sorrow, drained the breath from her body. She had forgotten that she was not breathing until she let out a forced exhalation. She continued to focus on her breathing so as not to scream obscenities at the door.

_This was not fair_. Her jaw was starting to ache from gritting her teeth in her efforts to control herself. Sarah quickly found herself out of patience with everything as she spun around to the window. She pushed up the sash with more force than was necessary in order to shout out at his retreating form. Her voice caught in her throat when she noticed towards where he was headed. Marc reached the dark blue roadster where the blonde with the up-do waited, obviously impatiently.

"You bastard!" came out as a whisper as the evidence sank in. She screamed the same epitaph as the car tore out of the parking spot and zipped towards the avenue.

Still shell shocked, she noticed the pack of cigarettes that was abandoned on the windowsill. Somehow, it managed not to fall out in her gyrations in opening it up. It was that Good-For-Nothing's fault that she had started smoking. Now painful memories of post-coital languishes with Marc lighting two cigarettes at once seem so sexy at the time, even though she did not smoke. It seemed so natural just to accept the offer and relish the same sensations with him just a moment or two longer.

She shook her head, trying to clear away the memories, and in the process, banged the back of her skull on the window jamb. Angry, frustrated, in pain, and powerless, Sarah slid down the wall inside her living room, folding her body like an accordion, cigarettes in hand.

_Why is it always for a blonde? _Blindly, she reached into the pack and took a cigarette. Without thinking, she smoothed out the paper of the narrow cylinder before placing it between her lips and lit a match from the pack that was in the box. She pulled hard on it, closing her eyes as she felt the smoke tingle down her windpipe and into her lungs. The anticipation of the relaxation brought on a pseudo effect of its own. So lost in her sensations, she almost did not hear the low vibration of something rolling around until the _pling_ of it falling onto the floor alerted her.

Guided by the sound, she looked towards her desk. Rolling in widening circles, as if trying to gather its bearings, was a clear sphere. Almost as if it realized that it had her attention, the ball rolled erratically towards Sarah. It came to a stand still by her socked toe, not touching it, but stopped on its own accord. Sarah looked at it blankly, her mind so overwrought that she did not question its origin.

Perplexity crossed her face. _What the hell… _It looked like a snow globe with some fantastical scene inside of it. When she was younger, she used to have one very similar to it, with little unicorns frozen mid-gallop on a plastic grassy hill beneath a wondrous castle, except this one did not have any white flakes swirling within a liquid, giving it a frosty winter wonderland effect.

Sarah reached out towards the bauble. Something odd about the interior stirred up memories. Gazing into it at arm's length did not offer up a clear vision of the scene. It was as if she was looking through a viscous atmosphere rather than a clear liquid. She peered in, the orb nearly touching her nose. Doing so gave her a bird's eye view of a pale colored stone castle with spiraling finials. What caught her breath was what lay in the shadow of the castle. Like a dry canal, stone walls wrapped around the surrounding landscape, doubling back upon itself into a myriad of concentric circles, switchbacks, and blind alleys. Flipping her wrist around afforded the same vista, but from a different vantage, with the castle more in the distance and the foreground in high relief. A black hole opened up in the pit of her stomach as forests and stone gardens became clearer.

Recognition washed over her in trembling cold waves. Something out of her past, something she tried to forget, but recently dredged up by a crystal and a feather. Reality crashed through her memory. _That bastard!_ Why was that overdressed, pompous fairy invading her life?

All of a sudden, her home—her haven—no longer felt secure. In less than five minutes, her champion abandoned her, leaving her, her abode and its defenses wide open, allowing an interloper to infiltrate her sanctuary. Although her door remained locked shut to the City that she was embedded in, something—no, _someone_—had entered. And like the shadows he and his minions felt comfortable in, they were ever present even when you were unaware of them. Sarah knew that even if she were to look, she would not see the eyes that she felt on her now.

The cold that permeated her body was quickly being consumed by the heat of her fury. The forgotten cigarette barely missed her hip as it fell from her mouth when she bared her teeth at the unseen intrusion. Her knuckles burned from gripping the ball. Before it shattered in her hand, Sarah hurled it across the room. It never did impact the far wall; the projectile exploded into a shower of glittering atoms and light motes upon hitting the brittle, masculine laughter that filled her apartment supernaturally.

* * *

As sure as time heals all wounds and as sure as day will follow the night, Monday morning found Sarah at the offices of Crown and Bridge Publishing. Even if it meant looking like she had not slept for a moment due to the churning memories and paranoia that the weekend left her to deal with.

"Mornin', Lorna. What's up?" She asked as a way of greeting a fellow reader.

"Not much," the petite Asian responded. "How was your weekend?"

"It sucked," answered Sarah as she eyed her non-existent chance of entering the break room for a cup of coffee.

"Don't they always?" Lorna asked rhetorically as she slid along the wall to get away from the congested cubicle.

It was a small establishment not far from her apartment in midtown. The rent was exorbitant if only to maintain a prestigious return address. A handful of editors with no more than three readers each to cover a broad scope of varied material that the married team of owning publishers employed were crammed within the break room when Sarah came in. Sarah wedged herself in sideways, hoping to reach the counter. Politely she acknowledged murmurs of recognition with snippets of gossip.

"…He's getting tired of all of it."

"But she's the one who really runs the show."

"They're both thinking about retiring."

"Says who?"

"She has brochures on her desk…"

Finally, Sarah, coffee in hand, turned to face the crowd once more, only to see the proprietor of the publishing house passing in the hallway. Like schoolchildren in a play yard, huddled together until the teacher appears, the room emptied quickly and silently with his passage.

She reached her desk quickly enough, but not so fast as to see who left the pile of manuscripts on her desk. Sighing as she put down her coffee cup, she picked through the material that needed proofreading. Period furniture and their place in history. More young adult/fantasy. She fruitlessly hoped it would not be another vampire story like the last ten stories she proofed. A field guide to wild animals in urban spaces.

Sarah absent-mindedly sat down into her chair as she continued to thumb her way down the pile, mentally noting the manuscripts that would receive an immediate thank-you-but-no-thank-you note. After a length of time, she had weeded through the stack to formulate her weekly reading load. Pushing back away from her desk, she watched the weak sunlight fall onto her workspace from the high set window. The natural light gave the messy papers a pastel-like rendering of a still life. The serene scene was lost on its owner as she reached across it to make notations to her overseeing editor.

A scrabbling sound behind abruptly invaded her space. It was not very loud, barely audible really, but in a quiet environment sounds made against concrete walls were sure to be amplified. Much like a sharp item being scraped against a slate board, the intermittent interference grated harshly against her sleep deprived nerves. Pressing her palms to the sides of her head did little good for as soon as she dropped her right hand to make a notation, the _zscritz-zscritz _from outside would re-occur. Overworking her jaw did nothing for the mounting headache. Exasperation set in when she realized that there was no way to see or to stop whatever was causing the offensive noise.

_Time for a nicotine break_. Sarah stood up and stretched before reaching behind her chair for her jacket. Once outside the building, she pulled out a cigarette and lit up before her curiosity at what her fellow smoker was looking at above them overtook her. Looking up, she did not notice anything out of the ordinary. "What's up, Harold?" she queried her co-worker, the pun lost on them both.

"Oh, hey Sarah," he started, blinking rapidly to adjust for the lack of glare. "There's a new bird in town that's taken up residence on one of the ledges of our building. It's doing a great job at keeping the pigeons off."

"Really? I've heard something outside all morning."

"You might be sitting right behind its nest."

Sarah moved along the wall, looking up the entire time. It was a fruitless effort as the façade of the building had numerous ledges at alternating floors that blocked her view up to the twelfth floor where her cubicle was. Without warning, the dark silhouette of a bird fluttered away from the building, searing itself in her memory as much as the late morning sun blinded her. Something about the boxy, long wings with the square, short tail gave her a sense of dread.

"There it goes!" Harold exclaimed enthusiastically.

She tracked the bird as it lofted over the buildings across the street. A strange sense of déjà vu caused a shudder to race down her spine as she tamped out her cigarette.

Once upstairs, she resumed her work. Absently, she picked up the manuscript from the pile and started at the choice, A Field Guide to Wild Animals in Urban Spaces. She turned to the table of contents, then to the page that marked the beginning of the avian section. Nothing in the manuscript seemed to match what she had just seen. It was too large to be a falcon. It was about the right size for a hawk, but the coloration and the overall shape were wrong.

She turned to her computer screen and typed in a familiar search engine. A few clicks and links later found her at a common font for information. She started to read.

**The Barn Owl is a pale, long-winged, long-legged owl with a short squarish tail. … Tail shape is a way of distinguishing the Barn Owl from ****true owls ****when** **seen in flight, as are the wavering motions and the open dangling feathered legs.**

The little hairs on the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably.

**This is a ****bird**** of open country such as ****farmland**** or ****grassland**** with some interspersed ****woodland …prefer****[ing] to hunt along the edges of woods.**

_Okay_, she said to herself, trying hard to stay collected if only for her officemates, _This is no ordinary owl who hunts small mammals in the night._

**It is known by many other names, which may refer to the appearance, ****habitat ****or the eerie, silent flight: White Owl, Silver Owl, Demon Owl, Ghost Owl, Death Owl, Night Owl … Hissing Owl, Hobgoblin or Hobby Owl,…**

Although her eyes were still fixed to the screen, she could not see anything further than where her panic set in. Hobgoblin owl. 'Goblin owl.

Goblin king.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


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